


A Last Hail Mary

by lforevermore



Series: Hail Mary [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, But also Bucky as Bucky, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hair Pulling, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, Really just throat-grabbing, Rough Sex, bucky as the winter soldier, implied impregnation, minor breathplay, recall codes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: Written for MCUKinkBingo, filling square "Dubious Consent."Darcy and Bucky get taken by HYDRA when Bucky's recall code is used against him.





	A Last Hail Mary

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to tags. This pretty much toes the line of consent. 
> 
> Find me at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

It happens when they’re coming home from the bar on a regular Friday night. 

Darcy’s a little drunk and very happy, with Bucky’s human arm draped over her shoulders. He’s nodding along as she talks about something inane - something she won’t remember in the grand scheme of things, like movies or celebrities or something about work - and suddenly he leans in and whispers three words that terrify her.

“Someone’s following us.”

Darcy freezes, but Bucky keeps her moving forward with a whisper of, “Act like you haven’t noticed. Act like I’m whispering something naughty.”

Darcy swallows, and then plasters a smile - too big, too bright - on her face. “Bucky, you  _ dog _ ,” she manages to say, like they’re lovers, like she isn’t scared to death right now. 

“Good,” Bucky whispers, pulls her tighter into him. “We’re going to go down into this alley. You stay behind me, got it?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Darcy says, voice shaking just a little. She doesn’t even have her taser, she knows, meaning that she’s going to be absolutely useless. Surely one metal-armed assassin can take out a couple run-of-the-mill bad guys that think they’re easy prey, right?

They duck down the alley, only to find that they’ve severely miscalculated somehow. Darcy knows that it’s bad, when she sees the four guns already aimed their way, but she doesn’t really know how bad until Bucky swears and shoves Darcy behind him. 

“You can take a bullet, Asset,” someone says nearby - too close, Darcy realizes, just as she feels the cold pressure of a gun against the back of her head. “Can she?”

Bucky’s answer is a slow raising of his palms - a surrender. “Leave her out of this,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at where Darcy is immobile and terrified. He turns, slowly, arms still raised in surrender. 

The man behind Darcy shoves her forward, suddenly, and Bucky catches her, steadies her, and curls around her like he can shield her with his body. Darcy finally gets a look at the main man with the gun.

“Take a good long look, Miss Lewis,” the HYDRA jackboot says. “Sergeant Barnes won’t be present much longer.” Then, before either of them can respond, he spits out something in Russian. 

Bucky stiffens. His hands tighten on Darcy’s arms until it hurts, and when she tries to pull away, she finds that he won’t let her move. When she looks up at him, she doesn’t see a trace of the man she knows - she sees a carefully blank face.

The man is lowering his gun, but Bucky doesn’t make a move to let Darcy go and overpower him. 

“What did you do to him?” Darcy breathes, looking at the HYDRA agent. 

“It’s called a recall code, Miss Lewis,” the agent says, sounding impossibly smug. “If I were you, I would hold very still. The Asset is quick to dispose of anything he deems a threat.”

Darcy swallows. “Bucky?” she tries, but he doesn’t even look at her. His fingers tighten imperceptibly, and she’s sure there will be bruises later. “Bucky, you’re hurting me…”

Nothing. 

“Take her to the car in the alleyway behind you,” the agent says, and Bucky finally reacts with a nod. “Miss Lewis, it would be in your best interest to go quietly.”

Darcy does go quietly. It’s hard not to, when the fucking Winter Soldier is the one manhandling you into the backseat. He sits beside her, stoic and practically unblinking, one hand still wrapped around her upper arm as though to keep her from jumping out at the next opportunity. The ride is silent, so all Darcy can really hear is her own panicked breath, the blood rushing in her ears. She’s sandwiched between an assassin who doesn’t remember he’s supposed to like her and a HYDRA agent, with two more in the front seats.

“Knock her out,” the head agent finally speaks from the driver’s seat. 

The man to Darcy’s left pulls out a syringe. It’s the first time that Darcy really starts to struggle, like coming out of shock, but it doesn’t last long as Bucky - no, the Soldier pins her arms to her chest and forcefully turns her head with a hand on her jaw. There is no gentleness, Bucky’s never touched her like this. 

There’s a prick of pain in her shoulder, the feeling of the Soldier releasing her, and then Darcy knows nothing.  
  


Darcy wakes up in a bed, in the dark, and for a moment, she thinks it was all a bad dream. There’s a pain in her shoulder that tells her otherwise, though, and when she twists to look at her arms, there are fingerprint bruises from a too-tight bionic hand. She’s still in her jeans - thank  _ God _ \- but her shoes are gone. She’s not tied to the bed or anything, so she supposes that’s a good sign. 

She sits up, careful of the ache in her shoulder where the needle had gone in. As she does so, the lights come up to reveal drab, gray walls and a little camera in one corner. Her cell, she realizes, is more like a suite - there’s a bathroom across the room, door half open, another door closed nearby, and a little kitchenette in the corner complete with a mini fridge. Last is a big steel door, presumably locked, and presumably her way to the outside. Darcy gets her legs under her, socked feet cold on the tiled floor. 

First she goes to the kitchenette. When she opens it, she finds it stocked - healthy food, mostly, salads and fruit, and in the back, a single can of Yoo-Hoo. She swallows back the panic and moves to the cabinets, and finds three boxes of strawberry Poptarts, four boxes of Cap’n Crunch, and various canned goods. 

Darcy sits hard at one of the chairs around the little steel table and puts her head in her hands, trying to think. They’ve got her favorites. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say they were taken directly from her apartment before she’d moved into the Tower. They’ve been watching her, she realizes - the question is  _ why _ . On top of that, this doesn’t seem like it will be a quick stay. They’re setting her up for the long haul, making her comfortable.

Next, she goes to the closed door. She doesn’t expect it to open at first, and finds that when it easily gives, it reveals nothing more than a closet. Darcy finds slippers, still with the tags on, as well as clothing hanging neatly in a row, apparently freshly bought. There are drawers full of underwear, socks, and pajamas, but the shirts that are hanging seem strange to her at first. Then, she realizes why - it’s all maternity clothes. 

Darcy doesn’t have time to be confused, as that’s when the big steel door opens, locks tumbling and giving way. She steps back from the closet, heart in her throat, especially when she realizes that she recognizes the figure striding through. 

“Bucky,” she breathes, and makes a move toward him, only to stop herself at the memory of his hands too tight on her skin. 

The man that looks at her isn’t Bucky - it’s the Winter Soldier, plain as day. He’s shirtless, jeans still on, and he looks like he’s contemplating killing her. He stalks toward her, predatory, and Darcy scrambles backwards, until her back is pressing against the wall and she’s got nowhere to go. 

Then the Soldier is in front of her, bare inches away. She tries to edge away, but a metal hand shoots out and pins her to the wall by her throat, holding her in place as he comes ever closer. His human hand finds her hip, fingers gripping rough, and the Soldier leans in. To Darcy’s surprise, his lips crash into hers, the kiss biting and breathtaking.

And oh, this is terrible. This is exactly what Darcy had always wanted - to kiss James Buchanan Barnes - but not like this. Not like this. 

He pulls away, centimeters from her lips, and Darcy wants to cry a little because she both knows how this is going to go and has  _ no fucking idea _ what’s going to happen next. The Soldier is looking at her like he either wants to kill her or kiss her again, and his fingers are flexing on her throat, and she can feel his hardness through his jeans pressing into her thigh. 

He leans in again, and Darcy has no choice but to brace herself for another kiss, when he surprises her. “Trust me,” he breathes, barely a whisper against her lips and sounding so much like Bucky that Darcy aches. “I’m sorry.”

Before she can respond, he’s got a hand in her hair, fingers too tight and just tight enough. He uses the grip to pull her across the room, back to the bed, and she can’t help the little pained whimper that escapes her. The Soldier practically throws her on the bed, and Darcy bounces, hands coming up to her hair to try and ease some of the sting. 

It’s like all of her roughest fantasies coming true, at the worst possible time. 

She moves to try and stand again, but a hand between her shoulder blades presses her to the bed, followed by the pressing weight of the Soldier against her back. His hand finds her hair again, twisting her head to the side so that he can press biting kisses to her neck. 

His hands find the waistband of her jeans, then the button, and then they’re being yanked down and away with no ceremony. “Roll over,” the Soldier orders, his voice nothing like the one that had been whispering for her to trust him only a few moments ago. Darcy swallows and rolls over, trapped between his arms and body, and brings her eyes up to meet his through the curtain of his hair. 

The Winter Soldier winks at her.

That’s when it hits her - she’s not dealing with the Soldier at all. She’s dealing with Bucky Barnes pretending to be the brainwashed Winter Soldier. Darcy could cry in relief - Bucky will get her out of here, even if he has to pretend to be a monster to do it. 

They stare at each other for a moment, and it looks as though Bucky’s trying to apologize with his eyes, where she assumes the camera can’t see. And Darcy - Darcy will try to make this as okay as possible, for the both of them. So she wiggles, pulling her t-shirt over her head and tossing it aside, and arching her back to free her breasts from her bra. 

“Alright, Soldier,” she says, voice trembling. “Show me what you got.”

There’s a quirk on Bucky’s lips, a relieved look in his eye. Then he’s on her, literally ripping her panties from her body with deft, strong fingers, and she gasps, can’t help the shiver that works its way down her spine at that. 

She’s  _ aroused _ , is the thing - terrified, aching, and aroused, with no idea how to compartmentalize any of this. Bucky seems to realize this, seems to be in the same boat. He definitely notices when he traces a finger through her folds and finds her wet, and Darcy’s cheeks heat in embarrassment and an aching need. 

They’ve been dancing around each other for months, and oh, Darcy wants it. Just not like this. 

She tosses an arm over her eyes when he drapes himself over her, braces himself with one arm on the bed and lines up. The head of his cock teases at her entrance, and Darcy’s breath catches. She has no idea when he’d gotten his fly unzipped, and for a moment she forgets that they’re being watched via camera, for a moment she forgets that he’s supposed to be the Winter Soldier and she’s supposed to be the damsel in distress. For a moment, all she wants is for him to slide home and fuck her into oblivion.

“Wait,” she says, and looks up meet his eyes - it’s too much, suddenly, everything crashing in on her. “Wait, Bucky, please.”

“I can’t, baby doll,” he murmurs apologetically, turned away from the camera. “I have to make this look real or I can’t get you out of here. I’m sorry.”

And then he’s pressing forward, an unforgiving, hard line thrusting into her body, practically punching all of the air out of her body. Bucky is  _ big _ , and he doesn’t wait for her to adjust before he begins to fuck her in earnest. She flings her arm out, and he catches it by her wrist, pinning it to the bed with his metal hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and she can’t formulate a response, can’t come up with anything other than a high-pitched, breathy moan. Her other hand flails, finally lands on his bicep, and she digs her fingers in, trying to hang on to whatever she can. 

Her orgasm hits her like a truck, a surprise when she arches and tightens around him, mouth open in a silent shout. Bucky lets out a mangled swear, and if anything his thrusts get even harder, driving her up the bed until he gets a hand around her throat again to hold her in place. Darcy lets out a little whimper, arousal hitting her hard at the pressure on her neck, the way that he can just move her effortlessly. It’s almost too much, the way that he keeps fucking her, and another, smaller orgasm hits her. 

“Jesus,” Bucky bites out, fingers tightening where they grip her, wrist and throat, and then he’s coming inside her, thrusts slow and deep. He bows his head, and Darcy reaches up to card through his hair. He releases her throat and grabs her other wrist, pinning it to the bed as well. “Sorry,” he breathes again. “Soldier ain’t gentle.”

And then Darcy remembers where they are, that they’re being watched, that this isn’t a moment between lovers, instead a necessary evil that is essential to their survival. She swallows hard. 

He waits a moment more, meeting her eyes, and then he’s pulling out of her carefully, and then away, releasing her entirely. Before he turns to face the camera, though, he gives her a quick, confident grin - entirely Bucky Barnes - and then the mask of the Winter Soldier is back in place.

Darcy shivers, sits up slowly, and watches as he walks to the door, knocking on it three times. It opens, and then he’s gone, and she’s alone. 

“ _ Trust me,” _ he’d said.

So Darcy waits. 


End file.
